I almost forgot about the mysterious fire that ravaged Finn’s childhood home. The cops still don’t have any suspects or real theories to share with the public.
“He mailed it to me when he found out I was back. There was one for my brother and one for me,” Finn explains.
“But… why would your mother write you letters?”
It’s almost like Nora Richards knew something was going to happen to her.
“She lost her parents unexpectedly when she was a teenager. There was no warning. They died in a shooting, and I guess… my mom didn’t want to leave her kids the way her parents left her.”
A million questions collide in my head.
“How come you didn’t know about the letters until now?”
“My mom never told anyone about them. Not even my dad.”
She probably thought she had more time. It’s one thing to leave your kids letters in case something happens to you; it’s another to tell your partner you think it might happen soon.
“Did you read them?”
“Nope,” Finn says quietly.
If it were me, I would’ve torn that box open a long time ago.
“Can I open it?” I push my luck. “Just the box, not the letters.”
He hesitates for a while before making up his mind. “Knock yourself out.”
He hands me the box, and I rest it on my lap, using my keys to cut through the tape. I can feel Finn’s eyes on me as I do what he couldn’t and open the box. Stacks of letters are waiting inside, each of them titled something different. I choose one at random, turning it over and skimming along Nora Richards’s perfect handwriting.
For when you fail.
I grab another one.
For when you succeed.
Then another.
For when you fall in love.
Tears cast a mist over my eyes as I read the back of each letter. If you have a child, If you get married, For when you turn eighteen. She really thought this through. Nora wrote a letter for every important moment in her sons’ lives.
“Why won’t you read them?” I place the letter in my hand back into the box.
A sigh leaves his lips. “Because if I read them, then it’s really over. I’ll have nothing left of her.”
“Is that why you came here? Because this place is all you have left of her?”
He shrugs. “I came here because this is where it all started. Just seems fitting for the story to end here, too.”
My throat tightens at the cruel irony of the situation. Finn’s mom watched over him from this lighthouse for most of his childhood, only to end up drowning in the very lake she was trying to protect him from. I instinctively grab Finn’s hand, but he doesn’t reciprocate my affection, his fingers limp in mine. I intertwine our fingers despite his cold exterior, reading him like an open book. He’s trying to push me away. The way he always does when he gets hurt, but I know better than to take his behavior personally.
“What now?” I ask.
Luckily, Finn doesn’t need more information to know what I’m talking about.
“Now…” He pauses. “We bury her. At least, what’s left of her.”
“I’m so sorry,” I choke out.